


No Sell

by booabug (allthisink)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: CLICKETY CLACK DOWN THE TRACK IT'S LOTS'N'LOTS OF PUNS, Comedy, Gen, This is ridiculous, lots of puns, puns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-10 12:12:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6984571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthisink/pseuds/booabug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As much as the fandom (and this author) loves seeing our heroes having to deal with injuries, Chat Noir's pretty fond of his magic suit granting total invulnerability. Maybe a little too much.</p><p>Started as a one shot, now is going to be a repository of silly street-crime fighting antics Chat gets up to because he thinks he's Batman, though he still can't help being as much of a ham as Spider-Man. Chapters as I can think of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The darkly clothed man ran a frenzied, winding path through the alleys of Paris, glancing behind him whenever he dared. He was still being pursued, he could feel it. He could feel it in the way the back of his neck prickled, the occasional woosh he heard, and the even rarer but far more unnerving sight of a shadow leaping between shadows.  
  
Logically, he knew his fleeing was a lost cause. The primal part of him, the one that remembered the savanna of his ancestors, pumped adrenaline and screamed for him to run, run, run as fast as he could.  
  
That wasn't enough.  
  
The shadow landed in front of him. Concentrating on it's gut, he drew his knife. Then he drove it, stabbing the figure in front of him, again, again, with both hands, again, with all his might, again. It snapped.  
  
He blanched.  
  
"Ah, carbon steel? The stainless ones usually bend on me. A shame, Monsieur Coupe, it seemed like a fine blade." A claw-tipped glove grabbed his wrist and held up what remained of the knife. "I'm quite _keen_ on swords and knives myself. I know this mark. A contemporary, independent knifemaker, very _honed_ in her craft. Quite _cutting edge_ of you, but _tang!_ She'd be disap _point_ ed to know what you've been using her work for."  
  
Coupe looked into glowing green eyes, squinting with a grin he couldn't see in the dark. They were like an animal's, reflecting what little light there was to make the young man seem inhuman.

"Playing cat and mouse with me? Not very _sharp_ of you," he winked.

 

* * *

  
  
Chat Noir knew Ladybug was annoyed with him for pulling a stunt like that again, but he couldn't help his giggling even as they continued their patrol after delivering a wanted man to the police.  
  
"Chat, I can't see in the dark like you. You know when you run off like that, I couldn't back you up if you needed it."  
  
"No offense, my lady, but you're as visible as a stop sign. It sort of ruins the whole shadowy knight thing to have you along."  
  
"I still hate losing track of you," she sighed. "Anyway, what does it matter?"  
  
"Stop signs hardly strike terror into the hearts of criminals, a superstitious cowardly lot!"  
  
"You've been spending too much time with Alya."


	2. I'll take that, bank you very much.

Chat Noir had learned, after a grizzled detective's furious lecture, that he was not to bring in petty gangsters. Bringing in small fry disrupted operations in catching the big fish in organized crime. Those on the wanted list only.  
  
She never said he couldn't mess with them.  
  
Ladybug and Chat always slowed down their nightly patrol in this seedy district of Paris. Minimize the odds of missing something they could intervene in to protect someone innocent, or defuse a situation between the not-so-innocent before it became violent at least.  
  
The police and criminals both hated to admit it but the wisecracking black cat really was making practitioners of street crime think twice. He didn't know that. Not for a fact- he wasn't aware of the numbers and statistical trend. He had convinced himself, though, and that was good enough for him. So he took off when he heard suspicious conversation.  
  
His Lady yelled after him, but soon he was at home in the shadows.

 

* * *

 

These two mooks, bless their hearts, were wearing homburgs like it were the fifties. Was it a signature of their gang? It seemed likely, the man guarding the other end of the alleyway had been wearing one too. _Had been_ because Chat had taken it after knocking him out. So sue him. It made him feel more incognito. Even if it was several sizes too large for his younger head. At least the cat eats kept it from getting in his eyes.  
  
Silently, he crept closer to the pair at the other end who were looking around the corner, one over the other.  
  
"... says, get this, he says the guard shift changes at nine. Looks like he delivered the boss a sack of gold."  
  
"Ger's useless, that don't tell us anything. Get us blueprints or the model of safe they're using, now that's something."  
  
"Tell me about it. Boss wants a quiet, bloodless heist? Fine. Makes sense. Banks nowadays are way too advanced for a smash and grab. We can keep watch and all, but how's we supposed to know how to sidestep the security system?"  
  
"Yeah, like we'd be toting guns and wearing these hats for the higher ups if we were criminal masterminds. Should have us working with engineers or architects or something. Mercs. I don't know. They're such geniuses they can run a syndicate, they ought to know how to plan this out."  
  
Chat moved with lithe care to stick his head out beneath the pair, looking around the corner like them. Now they were a stack of suspect heads.  
  
Deepening his voice as much as he could, he said, "Ger? More like a _Gerk._ The bosses are gonna get _heisted_ by their own petards at this rate. _Poor_ thinking. Expecting us to do this ourselves? Now that's _rich._ Really ought to let us _bank_ on some outside help. Heck, I can't even remember where we're hitting up again."  
  
"Heh, that's pretty good. The one in the 13th, on the Avenue d'Italie, remember? For now they just got us holding up dinky little corner store banks like that one," the gangster grumbled from above.  
  
Chat committed it to memory, so the police would know to warn them that they were being targeted. "Right, right. Fancy schmancy education or not, they got nothing on _gold gilt_ -ters like us. We got too much _cash_ -itude, see? Nyah."  
  
That last part felt like a little much, even for him. He just couldn't help it.  
  
"Hah! Quentin, when did you get to be such a riot? Hey, hold on just a sec- you ain't Quent!"  
  
"It's Chat Noir! Cheese it!"  
  
"Smart of you to _withdraw,_ but I can't let you off with those rooty tooty point'n'shooties to _deposit_ lead in anyone!" Chat quipped as he deftly took the other two down for the count. He couldn't bring them in, but he could at least rob them (heh) of their firearms. Now that he knew they were carrying, he went back to get the lookout's too.  
  
He just hoped the things had safeties and that they were on, he didn't know the first thing about guns. He figured his best bet would be to hold them by the barrels, run and jump gently, and hope nothing jostled the triggers before he got to the nearest police station. Of course, there was the problem of having three guns and two hands.  
  
Also, running slower let his Lady spot him (hehe).  
  
"Chat! What do you have in your mouth?!"  
  
He ran faster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by a hilarious silver age Spider-Man panel? strip? which I remember, but can't for the life of me find again or I'd show it here. Well, the last part had nothing to do with Spidey, it's just a thing cats do. (AND DON'T I KNOW IT)
> 
> I feel like a couple of puns could be confusing so to make sure:  
> Gerk = Jerk  
> Gold Gilt-ers = Go Getters


End file.
